House Of Payne: Twist

by Stacy Gail

  This was Angel’s kiss.

  When he finally raised his head, he watched her eyes slowly open. The languorous heat that sparkled there tightened his lower gut with achy, desperate need, and in that moment he was positive he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

  “You’re a good kisser,” she whispered, as if imparting a deeply personal secret. “I mean, crazy-good. As in, you should come with a warning label kind of good.”

  He smiled before leaning in to press his mouth to her brow. God, she made him crazy when she was cute. “I can’t tell if that’s you talking, or your concussion.”

  “Even I don’t know the answer to that one.”

  “That’s what I figured.” He let his lips linger on her brow before he slid his hands slowly down her narrow back to rest on her hips. “Damn, but you feel like mine.”

  “Hmm?” She leaned into him, her voice sleepy.

  “Nothing.” Since she fit so damn well tucked right there under his chin, he didn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t hold her closer. “You kiss like you should come with a warning label too. And I don’t have a concussion, so you know I mean every damn word I’m saying.”

  A little sound escaped her, something between a gasp and a laugh. “And what would my warning label say?”

  “Warning—this woman’s kiss causes instant addiction and may trigger swelling in certain body parts. Handle with care.”

  Her huff of laughter feathered along his neck as she tucked her face there. “Wow. Don’t I sound dangerous.”

  “Oh my God, you are. The most dangerous woman I’ve ever met… at least when you have a concussion.” Drinking in her warmth for a moment longer, he took a step back before nudging her in the direction of the bathroom. “Go on and get ready for bed, little girl. If you’re really good, I’ll let you have some of my mother’s world-famous rice pudding. It’s a guaranteed cure for anything and everything that ails you.”

  Brilliant morning sunshine streamed past the shutters, pulling Angel slowly up through layers of sleep. Warm and drifting toward full wakefulness, she listened to the sound of birds greeting the morning with cheerful chirping beyond the windows. For the first time in a long time she felt thoroughly rested, as if she’d been rejuvenated all the way down to her bones, and she sighed as that sense of wellbeing sank into every corner of her soul.

  Solid warmth shifted at her back, and the weight of an arm draped around her waist tightened. There, she thought. Right there was the reason why she felt so rested, as much as it galled her to admit it. It was now an inescapable fact that Twist was an unsurpassed master at spoiling her. And…

  She loved it.

  God, that was so nuts. Maybe it was a side effect of her concussion.

  No, she corrected, irked at how she tried to dodge her softening attitude toward Twist. That was spineless behavior and she hated that kind of thing ever since her father had taught her—through his own terrible behavior—the value of taking responsibility for one’s actions. The fact was, any woman would appreciate a man who doted on her the way Twist doted on her. Hell, he’d even shown up with the surprise of his mother’s homemade rice pudding, something he’d had his mother make just for her. Until last night, Angel had never been a fan of the stuff, but then she’d never had the real thing, apparently. She wouldn’t rest until she knew how to make the vanilla bean-infused custardy goodness that Twist insisted would cure her completely. The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was asking him to tell his mother that if anything could magically cure a concussion, her rice pudding had to be it.

  She’d gone to sleep trying not to think that his continued sweetness was just as delicious.

  That had her so confused she didn’t know which way was up anymore.

  Or even if they were still enemies.

  At some point in the middle of the night she had awakened to find she was once again held against the hard wall of Twist’s chest, this time with only the thin sheet under the comforter separating them. Like the night before, the sensation of being held so intimately by the bane of her existence unsettled her. Unlike the night before, however, it unsettled her in a completely different way. Her heart thudded so freaking hard against her ribs she was sure it would wake him. But as the seconds ticked by and his deep, quiet breathing lulled her, she found herself relaxing—and yes, even enjoying—the solid warmth his body provided. He was better than any electric blanket she’d ever had. Blankets sure as hell didn’t do the kind of cuddle job that Twist obviously could, and since she was a fan of cuddling, it wasn’t a bad deal for her.

  Until Twist, she hadn’t known she liked cuddling. Neither of the two official boyfriends she’d had in her life had been cuddlers, or very touchy-feely at all except with it came to sex. In her senior year, she’d gone with a boy for nearly four months before she realized it was only for the wham-bam, and once he was done, he was done.

  Not exactly the most fulfilling relationship she’d ever known.

  Her second long-term relationship had only been last year, but hadn’t lasted much longer than her high school romance. He’s been hot in a heavy-metal band kind of way, with a lean body, long hair and soul patch that she thought was cute. But she’d gotten so tired of his constant requests for free tattoos that it got to the point that she wanted to stuff a pillow into his mouth every single time he opened it.

  Again, not what anyone would call a romance for the ages.

  As crazy as it seemed, cuddling with Twist was proving to be more fulfilling than those two relationships combined. That fact led to the serious conundrum of whether or not they were still enemies. Instead of lying awake in the middle of the night trying to figure it all out, however, she’d simply wallowed in the sensation of being held in his strong arms and drifted off once more.

  Maybe that was the answer right there. She’d been able to sleep in the arms of her enemy because part of her—a big part—no longer saw him as one.

  She had no idea what the hell to do with that.

  “Did you know that you’re terrible at playing possum? A blind man could tell the difference between the sleeping you and the awake you.”

  The sound of Twist’s rumbly, sleep-rough voice made her tense. Time’s up, was all she could think. No more hanging in limbo while she struggled to figure out what to do with him. She had to decide whether or not he would forever be stuck in the role of villain in her head, or if she was capable of looking at him as anything else.

  And she had to do it now.

  His arm tightened around her. She couldn’t help but notice how the action brought her up against the impressive wall of his chest, and kept her there. “Time to wake up, Alice.”

  Yes. Yes, it was.

  “That used to be my least favorite part of Alice in Wonderland,” she told the room in front of her, because she couldn’t look at the man who held her. Her life as she knew it was hanging by a thread, and she was certain that even a single glance from Twist’s dark eyes would snap that thread in two. And then her life would change forever. “As a kid I felt so sorry for Alice, losing that fantastical dreamland when she woke up. But I get it now. No matter how awesome that world was, reality is always so much better.”

  “I don’t know about that. A hookah-smoking caterpillar is pretty fucking fantastic.” Again that arm tightened. This time she recognized it for the hug that it was, and she had to close her eyes against an unexpected wave of sweetness that was so piercing, it was almost painful. “What was it about reality that made you think Alice—or you, or anyone else—would be better off drifting forever in a dream world, while real life passed on by?”

  “I don’t know. Actually, that’s not true,” she heard herself admit, when she hadn’t had any intention of doing do. She opened her eyes once more and hoped that would bring back her sanity. “I do know. When I was twelve, we were studying Lewis Carroll’s Alice works as being a literary metaphor for transitioning from childhood to adulthood—a subject a bunch of seventh-graders could rela
te to. Twelve years old is one of the weirdest, most awkward stages to go through, don’t you think? You’re old enough to understand so much about the world, but you’re still a child at heart, with a child’s emotions and limitations. If something comes along to rock your world, you understand what’s happening, but you don’t yet have the emotional maturity and coping skills to deal with it.”

  His other arm slid from under her pillow where her head rested, and came across her body so that his hand cupped her bare shoulder, locking her more completely against his chest. “Sounds about right. I think I spent that entire year being pissed off.”

  With both his arms wrapped around her like steel bands, it was hard to keep her mind on the conversation. “I did too.”

  “Because someone came along and rocked your world?”

  “Yes.” It came out grudgingly, if only because she never really talked about it. Not to her mother, not to Scout, not to Joey or Novak. That time in her life just sat inside her, untouched, like an undiscovered toxic spill that quietly leaked poison into her system. “I guess I had the perfect little princess life—doting mother and adoring father, the best schooling and a great circle of friends. My father inherited a prestigious architectural design company that currently is responsible for about a quarter of the residential jobs in Chicago and outlying communities. I never had so much as a ripple of trouble to darken my life.”

  “Sounds like a great childhood,” came the surprisingly gentle response. The paranoid freak in her almost wished he’d popped off with some kind of asshole response, if only to make her slam up her guard and stay safe. But to her dismay, his sweetness just kept on coming, and she had nothing at her disposal to combat it. “What happened?”

  “Nothing hideous. Just the usual, run-of-the-mill suburban drama of my parents’ marriage breaking up. It’s so normal it’s boring, really.”

  She felt him shift. “I thought your parents were still together.”

  “My father moved back in three years later when they remarried—I was just a few weeks away from my sixteenth birthday. About two years later I landed at House Of Payne and moved out as quickly as I could. We were all better off with me out of the house.”

  “That’s something I’ve never understood about your history,” he said after a moment. “I don’t get how a kid who’s not yet graduated from high school is better off without parental supervision. If I had kids, I’d never let them do that, especially a little girl. Not until I’d made sure they graduated, anyway.”

  The thought of an overprotective Twist hover-parenting a little girl with dark hair and intense dark eyes made her smile. “That was the deal I made with them—they’d let me go without a hassle if I promised to graduate. We both kept up our ends of the deal, and everyone was happier for it.”

  “Why were you so hot to get out on your own?”

  A slow, painful burn flared at the base of her throat and worked its way up until her eyes stung with it. “I couldn’t stand being in a place I wasn’t wanted.”

  “What?”

  “That sounded pathetic, didn’t it? Ugh. I didn’t know it would sound that bad. But then, I’ve never actually said those words out loud before. And honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever say them again, they’re so embarrassingly pitiful.”

  His head came up so his mouth was close to her ear. “What do you mean, you couldn’t stand being in a place you weren’t wanted? I thought you had a great family life.”

  “I did, too.” She made herself take in a silent, calming breath when her voice shook, weakened by an old, old injury she’d thought had healed over. But the pain oozing up now told her that it hadn’t healed. It had only been buried. “I guess it was just a pretty illusion, that great family life. Like Alice’s dream world.”

  “What happened to make you think that?”

  “My father was having an affair with his receptionist—a total upper middle-class cliché if there ever was one.” To her shock she heard the words spill out without her permission. It wasn’t like her to speak so freely of that terrible event that had permanently changed the dynamic of their family. She hated thinking of it, much less talking about it. “I remember hearing all this yelling from downstairs, so I hurried down to see what was going on. My mom was hysterical, demanding to know what more my dad needed, when she’d spent every moment trying to make the perfect life for him. Perfect house, perfect kid, perfect hostess for his bigwig parties and clients. She’d devoted everything she was to building up his life, and this was how he repaid her—by telling her he wanted a divorce so he could move in with his hot young girlfriend. See? Total cliché.”

  His arms tightened, and though she knew it was crazy, it almost felt as though he wanted to protect her from that long-ago scene. “That had to suck.”

  “Yeah.” She’d never forget how the bottom of her stomach had dropped away as she listened to what was the end of the world as she’d known it. Yeah. It had definitely sucked. “My dad tried to defend his indefensible position with that worn-out, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ spiel. Come to find out, he hated every part of his life. Every part. He’d never wanted to be an architect, but he’d been forced to be one by his family. He’d never wanted to be the head of one of the most successful architectural firms in all of Chicagoland, but he’d had to because he’d inherited it. No, he’d always dreamed of being a cartoonist for one of the big houses, like DC or Marvel. As far as he was concerned, the family architectural firm he’d been saddled with was nothing more than a gilded cage that stifled his inner artist that yearned to, and I quote, ‘break free of these soul-smothering bonds’.”

  He snorted. “What a fucking drama queen.”

  That almost startled a laugh out of her. “You can say that again.”

  “If he hadn’t wanted to be in the family business in the first place, he should have manned up way back when, told them no, and had the balls to go for what he really wanted, instead of crying about it like a bitch a decade or two later.”

  “Right? And let me tell you, he sure as hell didn’t mind the good life and prestige the business gave him when it came to supporting both his family and the mistress he had on the side,” she added, grinning. Then she shook her head in astonishment when she realized she could grin about it after all these years. “I look back now and I’m able to see that my dad was the product of his environment—kind of spoiled, a lot entitled, and he couldn’t seem to understand why the rest of the universe refused to revolve around all that he wanted, needed, and felt. Because of this, his woe at this time in his life was probably immense.”

  Twist was quiet for a moment. “No offense, but I don’t think I’d like your dad very much.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “Was that why you left home so early? Because you wanted to make sure you weren’t a part of his orbit? Or was it that you couldn’t forgive him the way your mother obviously did when she remarried him?”

  “Neither, actually.” She stared straight ahead while that scene played out before her mind’s eye. “His sorrowful tale of how his soul was being smothered wasn’t just confined to how much he hated being a buried by a highly successful family business that he was great at. My father, who called me Daddy’s girl and the man I adored, told my mom that he’d never wanted kids, that she’d trapped him with me, and that the worst moment of his entire life had been when she’d told him that she was pregnant with me.”

  “Baby.” Under the comforter, his leg came over her hip, engulfing her in an all-over body hug while his mouth pressed against her ear. “He didn’t mean it. Not like that.”

  “I know. Seriously, I get that it was the heat of the moment, and I’ve come to terms with that. But the fact remains he hated a life he saw as not good enough. He wanted to escape it, and I was part of all that he wanted to escape.” She shrugged and felt his hand tighten on her shoulder. “So I set him free.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I went as ugly-crazy as only a hysterical twelv
e-year-old can do, screeching that I hated his guts while I kicked, pummeled and shoved him toward the vestibule. He wanted out of a life that wasn’t worthy of him and his greatness? Fine. I showed him the door and gave him what he wanted. Out.”

  His mouth caressed her ear before sliding down to burrow in her neck. “Angel.”

  “The problem was that he didn’t stay out. Can you believe it? His relationship with his mistress went south, so he crawled back to his runner-up choice, the soul-smothering family he’d thrown away. I don’t know, I guess he thought that while we weren’t worthy of his awesomeness, at least we were better than nothing.”

  “Or he realized he’d made a mistake and wanted to come back.”

  “That’s sweet, Twist. But if that were the case he’d have done it right away, not years later after his other relationship tanked and he had nowhere else to go.”

  “So that’s why you got out of there as soon as you had a job,” he said after he let that sink in. “What’s your relationship with your folks now?”

  “I’m okay with my mom, though I didn’t really get that way until I was out of the house. I just could never understand where her pride was, allowing him back into her life like that.”

  “Maybe pride doesn’t matter when you love someone.”

  She shrugged, though that certainly gave her food for thought. “When she remarried my dad, she asked me to be her maid of honor, but I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t even attend the ceremony, and while I still feel it would have been hypocritical to stand up with her, I now regret that I didn’t give her the emotional support she probably needed that day. The last thing she needed to feel was that she was being torn between her daughter and the man she obviously loves. I’ve since told her her how I regret putting her in a position that probably made her feel very conflicted.”